


Trustworthy

by Haberdasher



Series: Non-Transcendence GF Fic [10]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clone Ford, Clones, Gen, Grunkle Ford-centric, Paranoid Ford, Young Grunkle Ford
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: AU where Ford decides that in the end, the only one he can trust is himself.





	

Ford needed help. Even he knew that.

After he had learned of Bill’s betrayal, things had gone south fast. He’d done what he could- shut down the portal, hid two of his journals in the far reaches of Gravity Falls- but now what?

The last journal couldn’t remain so close to the others, to the portal, to _him_ ; it needed to be buried on a desert island or dropped in a dense jungle thousands of miles away, somewhere where nobody could find it, not even himself. But he couldn’t leave town, couldn’t leave the portal unguarded, couldn’t leave behind notes that might help another carry out Bill’s plan, _couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t-_

What Ford needed was someone he could trust, someone who could dispose of the last journal for him while he stayed behind and cleaned up the rest of this mess. But who could he trust now? Anyone he asked could be possessed, could be tricked by Bill, could be easily manipulated into letting the tome fall into the wrong hands. Besides, he knew few people in town, and the only person he might have called a friend had broken off all contact  ~~and who could blame him...~~

All Ford had left was himself, alone in an empty house, mind running in circles as he thought of all that needed to be done both here and elsewhere, how he needed to be inside Gravity Falls and outside it at the same time to fix all that he’d done, one person needing to be in two places at once...

Two places at once.

Ford abruptly dropped the pen that he had been absentmindedly tapping against a blank notebook page, the tip of the pen having long since poked through the top sheet of paper and dug into several below it, and stood up shakily. He pressed his hand against his forehead, ink-stained fingers digging into his hair and scalp, and laughed.

That was it!

He knew one person who knew better than to give in to Bill’s trickery, who could lend a helping hand when he needed it most.

Himself.

He just needed another _him_.

Ford grabbed the journal and clutched it tightly at his side as he stumbled from room to room until reaching the copier. He clambered onto it, struggling to squeeze himself entirely onto the screen, then paused momentarily to set his copy of the journal on the ground (the last thing he needed now was for _that_ to be duplicated). He sat there for a moment, curled up against the cool smooth glass, hesitating, his mind running through the same lines over and over-

_would it work- would anything work- he had to try, had to do something-_

Ford pressed the button.

A loud, discordant hum erupted from the copier as a line of green light traversed the length of the screen. A puff of dark smoke burst out from the side of the copier, dissipating as it floated towards the ceiling. And a single, large sheet of paper came out, displaying a monochrome outline of Ford’s own form, and by the time Ford had scrambled off the copier and onto his feet the grays had turned to colors and the outline had emerged from the rest of the paper, had become an exact replica of himself-

Ford whipped out a thick black marker and grabbed the replica’s hand, writing a large number 2 on the back of the clone’s hand before releasing his grip and writing a 1 on his own hand. He looked over at his double, waiting for a reaction, silently daring him to raise an objection.

Instead of objecting, however, the clone sighed; his voice was low and steady, his eyes darting between the number on his hand and Ford’s face as he spoke. “Please don’t just call me Two.”

“And why not?” The words came out filled with more hostility than Ford had intended, but he pressed on. “Why is that a problem?”

The clone took a shaky step back, his gaze fixed on a point just left of Ford’s face as he spoke. “I don’t want to be a number. I’m not just another experiment, I’m... well, I’m you, more or less.”

“You’re not me.” Ford looked down at the 1 on his hand, watching the ink that composed the mark wrinkle and stretch as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

The clone slumped his shoulders as he glanced down at his own number. “No, not exactly, but I’m as close as we’re going to get.”

“...I suppose I do need to call you something. So if not Two, then...?”

The room lapsed into silence. The clone had a point- calling him whatever descriptor came to mind at any given moment could lead to confusion, and right now they could use all the clarity they could get. But when Ford tried to think of a name, his mind kept being drawn back to the same one, because even outside his previous disastrous test of the copier, this wasn’t the first time he’d been faced with a visage strikingly like his own... but no, that wasn’t right at all, he had to come up with something else. There was a whole world of other names out there, a near-infinite number of names that would fit the bill, but now that he needed to think of one, Ford was drawing a blank- and based on the puzzled look on the clone’s face, he wasn’t having much success either.

After some time, during which both Ford and his clone went from standing up to sitting with their backs against the nearest vertical surface (Ford against the copier, his clone against the wall, both having one hand absent-mindedly brushing against the journal that lay between them), the clone spoke up.

“Neo?”

“Neo?” Ford echoed. He took a moment to consider the name. Neo.  _New_. Simple, straightforward, easily distinguishable from his own name and from... the other one that kept occurring to him. 

Ford shrugged. “Works as well as anything else.”

“That’s what I figured,” the clone- Neo- responded. “So now that that’s settled-”

“-we need to deal with the journal.”

Neo spoke the first few words along with Ford, then blinked several times and fell silent, shaking his head violently as if the speed of the motion would clear his head all the faster.

Two pairs of eyes fell upon the book in question, upon the hands that had unconsciously reached for it, concern for its security shining through even while they had been lost in thought.

Neo cleared his throat before speaking. “I might as well take it now, unless you want to be the one to dispose of it...”

“No. No, no, you’re right. It’s yours to take now.” Despite his acquiescing words, Ford hesitated for a long moment, his gaze darting between Neo and the journal, brushing his hand against the journal’s edge one last time before returning his arm to his side. 

Neo nodded tersely as he tucked the journal tightly under his arm. “...you’ll see me out, then.”

Ford didn’t answer; it wasn’t a question.

A heavy silence filled the air as the two men made their way towards the front door, their thoughts unspoken yet mutually understood, though there were a few muttered apologies spoken instinctively when they bumped into one another.

Soon enough they were both hovering by the entryway, and Neo briefly handed the journal back to Ford as the clone rummaged through his coat pockets to make sure he had the essentials: the passport shoved in there weeks ago just in case, bent and worn around the edges, never used; several crumpled wads of dollar bills (and it suddenly occurred to Ford how the copier’s preternatural power of duplication could be put to more... mundane uses); a number of pocket-sized tools both prosaic and arcane... all he needed was there, and more besides.

Neo extended his hands when he was done rifling through his pockets, and it was a normal motion, a casual motion, but Ford couldn’t help but feel a certain importance to the gesture as he rested the journal in Neo’s open hands.

Ford undid the several locks guarding the front door, but rather than going through immediately Neo paused in the entryway, one hand on the doorknob, the other tightly clutching the journal. He opened his mouth, closed it a moment later, then opened it again and said, “Don’t worry. It’s in good hands.”

Ford nodded tersely in response as Neo opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

How long had it been since Ford had seen the outside world? The sun was nowhere to be seen; thick gray clouds blanketed the sky; grass swirled and branches shook as gusts of wind blew to and fro.

And there was nothing more to say. No use in saying goodbye to someone you just met (someone you just _created_ ). No use discussing the plans that you both knew equally well. No use in discussing what would happen after, because it was better that they stay out of touch for good, as the more contact they had, the greater the risk of him figuring out the hiding place-

Ford’s stomach sank as he suddenly realized the flaw in his plan.

“Wait!”

Neo turned back to face Ford, straddling the last step between the porch and the ground below.

“What?” Neo’s tone of voice was curt, but he did do the courtesy of turning back towards the house so as to best hear Ford out.

Ford stepped forward until he stood in the middle of the doorway, gently leaning against the door to keep it open. A particularly large gust of wind went through, rattling the door, and Ford shivered as the cold air blasted against him. That’s right, it was winter, it had been winter for some time now- January, was it? Or was it February already? He wasn’t sure; the days and weeks all seemed to blend together, the seasons unimportant when his long hours were all spent indoors.

Ford closed his eyes, took a deep breath-

Neo took a few steps closer until he was back on the porch proper. “What is it?”

-let it out, and opened his eyes, looking straight at Neo.

“Bermuda.”

Neo’s expression showed a flicker of shock before resolving itself into a mask of confusion and anger.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were planning on taking the journal to Bermuda.”

Ford had been hoping that his guess, and the train of thought behind it, was incorrect. The way Neo’s face dropped as the words sank in indicated otherwise.

“You were going to bury it on some remote beach there, and if I tried I could figure out exactly where, because _you’re_ just going to put it right where _I_ would, and if I can find it-”

“-so can Bill.”

Neo returned to the near side of the porch, shoulders slouched, dragging his feet with every step. Ford took a moment to gently massage his temple, though the action did nothing to resolve his headache, the dull pain that had resided there for weeks growing stronger by the minute.

“...it wouldn’t help if I just picked a new place, would it?”

Ford weighed the idea, mentally scanned the globe for more suitable locations (somewhere far from Gravity Falls, a corner of the earth few would ever reach, yet easy enough for him to access, without too much money-gouging or red tape involved, and most of all without anyone paying him the least bit of attention along the way), came up with a few ideas too solid to dismiss. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“So that’s that, then.” Neo looked like a balloon with the air let out, looked as if the next gust of wind could blow him away, looked- well, looked even worse than Ford felt, and that was saying something.

“That’s that.”

Neo leaned against the wall of the house, and the two stared out at the swaying trees for a long moment, silently mourning the solution that wasn’t.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Ford jumped at the sound of Neo’s voice, the inadvertent motion pushing him just far enough outside that the door, no longer supported by his weight, slammed shut behind him.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

Neo’s brown eyes were dark and somber as he looked back at Ford.

“All you wanted from me was to get rid of this, and I can’t, no more than you can.” Neo stretched his arm out towards Ford, thrusting the journal in his direction, though he stood far enough away that it was just barely within Ford’s reach. “So you don’t need me anymore.”

Ford snatched the journal back, clutching it tightly against his chest. “I’m not going to kill you. That’s absurd.” He paused, reflected on what the many science fiction novels he’d read suggested about the nature of clones, and added a caveat to his previous statement. “Not unless you try to kill me first, that is.”

“Why would I do that? We have enough to worry about as it is.”

Ford responded with a bitter laugh as another gust of wind rattled the door, making them both shiver.

“We should go back in, then.” It was phrased as a statement, but Neo’s face laid bare the uncertainty that lay within, the question that he wasn’t quite asking.

“...yes, we should.”

The doorknob refused to turn at first, and Ford was beginning to suspect that he’d locked himself out before it abruptly gave way, causing Ford to half-stumble into the house. A quick glance backwards revealed that Neo was trailing not far behind him, and when he stepped forward enough for Neo to enter, the latter wasted no time in slamming the door shut and jiggling the locks back into position one by one.

As he returned to his study, Ford couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have another set of hands around again.

And this time, he wouldn’t bungle things up like he had... the last time he’d had an assistant.

This time, they were going to make things right.


End file.
